


saccharine

by sweetie (Marnie)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Multi, Team as Family, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vignette, literally the most self-indulgent thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marnie/pseuds/sweetie
Summary: “What do you want this to mean?” Molly asks, flashing sharp teeth in a smile that looks a little too crooked to be genuine.“I don’t know.” Caleb says, lying through his teeth.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Caleb is inside Jester feels like kismet. She lets out a low, purring sound of satisfaction, her tail curling slowly but firmly around his upper thigh as he enters her velvet heat. Molly is behind him, whispering filthy sweet nothings into his ear as one of his hands plays at where he is joined to Jester, and the other pushes slicked fingers into his waiting entrance. Molly curves his fingers, swift and deliberate, and hits a spot that sends his hips jerking instinctually forward.

“Move, Caleb,” Jester is whining into his chest, moving her hips restlessly. She lets out a small cry when he pulls out and thrusts back in, shallow, testing the weight of his movement and the limits of his self-control.

“She feels good, doesn’t she?” Molly whispers, lips curling up into a small grin against the sensitive skin behind his ear.

And Caleb doesn’t realize it but he’s chanting _yes, yes, yes_ , in Zemnian, high and needy and unbidden.

Their rhythm is jerky with both eagerness and hesitation, at first, but soon, they find something that works. Caleb pushes into Jester, brushing kisses along her flushed face, cherishing the wet pulse of her around him. Then he pulls out and Molly pushes in, fingers talented and filling. Before long, Jester is whimpering and coming, and Molly replaces his fingers with his cock and pushes Caleb further into Jester, filling him in a way he didn’t know he needed to be filled.

“Stop, stop. _Bitte_ ,” He says, fingers curling tightly into the blankets below.

Jester giggles, giving him a targeted squeeze.

“You alright, love?” Molly asks, voice sounding deliciously strained in a way Caleb has never heard.

“He’s fine, he’s just trying not to lose it.” Jester says, reaching up to brush Caleb’s hair away from his forehead.

Then she reaches past him, and when Caleb turns his head he can just see Molly chuckle and press a soft flurry of kisses into her palm. The action is brief but so, so intimate and loving that he feels like an invader. The moment passes when Molly brushes a finger over Jester’s exposed clit, giving an answering purr to the low moan it gets him. Then he’s squeezing the shaft of Caleb’s cock, one, two, three quick pulses that likely wouldn’t feel so tempting if Caleb’s self control weren’t so frayed.

Molly kisses his neck as he starts to move, and Caleb realizes that he’s in trouble.

 

* * *

 

“What does this mean?” Caleb asks, after the _n_ th night in a row sandwiched between two mischievous and warm tieflings who see entirely too much.  

Molly’s wiry thigh is resting between his own, and Jester’s soft breasts are pressed against his back. He’s as pleased as a cat that got the cream, but there’s a stubborn part of him that doesn’t want to let the world know that. He’s tense. All he wants to do is melt into their hold.

There’s something about the sight of both of them that makes him feel painfully tender. He wants to cradle them both; he wants to devour them with gnashing and searching teeth and be as close to them as physically possible.

“What do you want this to mean?” Molly asks, flashing sharp teeth in a smile that looks a little too crooked to be genuine.

“I don’t know.” Caleb says, lying through his teeth.

Jester runs a comforting hand up and down his arm.

“Let us know when you figure that out,” she says. “Because, actually, we don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to do, actually.”

“Okay,” Caleb sighs, knowing he has hurt both of their feelings and that they will say absolutely nothing about it.

Jester’s hand trails lower, lower, lower. Molly leans in and kisses his neck, right where it’s most sensitive. Caleb closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

"Caleb," Jester says to him, while they're settled at a cozy little tavern. It's not quite upscale and not quite hole-in-the-wall.

The patrons watched their merry little band curiously, especially the colorful tieflings and the firbolg who had to bend over to even get inside, but once it became clear they weren't going to cause any trouble, they'd stopped watching.

Jester is a terrible flirt in about every way that counts, but she's so endearing and garishly straightforward that it works anyways. 

In the moments between travel, where they're settled with gold and warm beds and maybe even a bath nearby, she's brazen about her intentions. She loves sticking one hand on her hip and the other behind her head, pursing her lips while she twists her body into whatever odd little dance she has cooked up on the road. She does that now, and after letting out a bark of laughter, Molly joins her.

"Oh, that's. I'm not sure I understand why you're doing that." Nott says. She's got that confused grin on her face that first endeared Caleb to her, all sharp teeth and furrowed brow.

"We want to have sex with youuuu, Caleb," Jester sings.

Molly lets out another laugh. Caleb has come to notice that only Yasha and Jester have ever been able to extract that truly breathy laugh from Molly.

"Ugh. Guys, really?" Beau says, her face crumpling in disgust.

"You're so sexyyyyy, Caleb." Jester continues.

Caduceus is giving him a concerned look, and Fjord has that look on his face like he's halfway between laughing and assembling some appropriately platitudinous thing to say, which happens often around Jester. Yasha smiles into her dinner.

"Thank you, Jester. You, eh. You both are quite lovely, as well." Caleb says. 

She grins, and blows him a kiss. He mimes catching it in his hands, and then looks back down at his book. His face feels uncomfortably warm, but he can't help the little smile on his face.

(Later, Caduceus tells him that he ought to hold on to things that make him smile.)

* * *

Caleb notices things, over time:

Molly likes decadence, in all things. He likes spoiling and he likes being spoiled. He's delighted when Caleb spreads him out on a gorgeously sewn blanket, pilfered from some ostentatious cart on the road. He likes kisses on the neck, and he likes being held down. He likes using his mouth—he likes licking Jester until her thighs close around his ears and she's shoving at his horns, and he likes taking Caleb into his mouth, slow and calculated and deliberate. He likes a slow fuck as much as he likes one that's quick and dirty, and he's got no preference for who takes who. Molly craves people, craves _contact_ , and he's got a lot of affection in his heart to dole out.

 

Jester likes learning people. Their first night together was spent with her seeing just how many ways she could push Caleb's limit—squeezing around his length with surprising strength, words of encouragement whispered in his ear, gentle scratches on his back. She's bratty, and she takes what she wants. She likes to ride them, and even in the moments when she's strung out and overstimulated, she has to be involved somehow. She comes quickly, and she comes easily, and she laughs.

 

Together, they're a whirlwind of organized chaos. Caleb has seen Molly pause and worriedly ask Jester if his horns have locked with hers and then ask her to suck his cock in the same breath. Their relationship is halfway between obnoxious and loving, and they're ridiculous, and sometimes they invite Caleb into their bed and take him apart with punch-drunk efficiency. Caleb likes the nip of Jester's teeth and the feeling of Molly's wandering tail. He likes the look of hickeys on brightly colored skin. He's endeared by pupil-less eyes and gaudily decorated horns. He has begun to learn a bit of Infernal.

He is in love. He hides it with kisses and skillful hands, and hopes that the feeling passes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jester scuttles into his room at night.

 

This is not terribly uncommon—typically she and Molly share a room, an indolent tangle of limbs and tails by the morning, lavender and sweet blue. But sometimes Molly drinks into the night, or finds some other risky gambit to entertain himself. The need for a warm body pushes Jester to seek it where she can, and that usually means with Caleb and Nott. He will never admit it, but he looks forward to the nights where Nott gives a sleepy trill, curling around his feet, and Jester presses her front to his, throwing her thigh over his hip to help her burrow close. In warmer areas he wakes up sweating—tieflings naturally run hot—and in colder climes it’s hard to untangle in the hushed hours of the morning.

 

What is different is the determined look in her face when she slips into his room, this time, dressed in a thin and gauzy night dress that he’s never seen before. Caleb reads by candlelight and can scarcely sleep without the familiarity of it, so the golden glow cast on her skin makes her seem almost ethereal in nature. He can just make out the shape of her body beneath the fabric, and quickly glances back up to her face.

 

“Caleb,” she says, and there’s a hesitance to her voice, like she’s about to say something more but decides against it. It doesn’t matter. Caleb hasn’t give name to the connection they share, but they all feel it. He knows what she means, what she wants.

 

“Come here?” He asks, lifting the blankets just so.

 

She lets out a little sigh of relief, the slight tension of her shoulders easing as she climbs into bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders in a sweet embrace, and Caleb is suddenly fiercely thankful that Nott is not here to see this moment of vulnerability. He loves Nott, but the friendship they share is a familial thing, something just as unspoken and private as his other relationships.

 

“I missed you,” Jester blurts out. “And I know that's kind of, um, just a little stupid because you’re always nearby. And I know you’re, like, not really _really_ with us but it’s been a while and yeah it just gets sad sometimes. Molly misses you, too. But he’s a little angry about it. And he’s also angry that he’s angry because he feels like it isn’t fair. It’s a confusing time for him, you know?”

 

Once she’s said her piece, she frowns and burrows her face into the crook of his neck, breathing deep. Caleb rubs circles in her back and processes her words. Molly has every right to be angry.

 

That explains a few things—Molly’s already sharp smile, sharper lately when it’s just the two of them, and the heat behind normally playful jabs. Jester’s searching looks in the silences at camp, and the way she asks less inappropriate questions in public. He is truly a disaster, Caleb thinks, letting out a bitter laugh.

 

“I, eh. I—I missed you, too _.”_

 

“Then why don’t you talk to us? Like, really talk to us? We—care about you, Caleb. We’re kind of stupid with words sometimes, but we won’t bite unless you ask us to.”

 

That shocks a real laugh out of him, free, for once, of self-deprecation. “I will keep that in mind.”

 

He has not answered her question. He knows that she knows. She knows a lot of things she does not let on. Still, she squeezes him, and it feels like forgiveness.

 

“I am here, now,” Caleb tells her, gently guiding them down to where they are both facing each other. She wiggles closer, throws one soft thigh over his hip and presses a kiss into the underside of his jaw. She lets out a tinkling laugh, muttering something about scruff.

 

She takes the invitation and tells him her thoughts, or stray observations she’s made. She tells him about errant talks with The Traveller, and drawings she’s made of the many people they passed on the road. She talks about the old tiefling man they passed in a little trade hub, the one with yellow skin and a broken horn and so much kindness. He’d entertained her and Molly at his little shop, regaled them with tales of adventure, speaking in rumbling Infernal the whole time. Caleb remembers that day, the gentle delight on both their faces, how lovely it had felt to see it and then how sad it felt when he wondered about how he probably couldn’t make them feel like they were at home in that way.

 

Jester talks about Molly, the ridiculous but sweet things he has done just to make her laugh and smile. He poses naked with flowers between his teeth, and he writes baudy Infernal poems in the margins of her journal. They exchange a single secret a day, and compare the scandalousness. They are as much best friends as lovers, complementary and vivacious. (With wiggling brows, she recounts some of their more adventurous sexual exploits, answering so many questions he had about the way they popped in and out of sight while the Mighty Nein traveled.)

 

“What about you, what have you been doing? I know we are all family here but sometimes it feels like we’re doing so many small things while we do one big thing.” She finally asks, brushing Caleb’s hair away from his forehead. Her fingertips are warm and calloused against his skin, leaving a tingly imprint in a line.

 

So Caleb speaks on new spells he has learned, and magic he has taught Nott. He tells her an abridged version of a horribly trashy romance he recently read. She’s enraptured, and extracts a promise that he’ll allow her to read it once he finds it in the organized mess of his things. He speaks on the bafflingly quirky apothecary from the last town they visited, the one who spoke in riddles and had one rolling glass eye that seemed fit to pop out of her face.

 

They fall into a comfortable silence. Jester has been stroking his back their whole talk. It’s an absentminded thing, something he has seen Molly do for her in the down hours. The two of them make sense. They are comfortable and loving and unthinking. How can he disrupt that, force them to create new ways of expressing that just for him? It doesn’t seem fair.

 

Jester halts his thoughts with a kiss.

 

“Come back to us, okay?” She whispers onto his lips. He begins to voice a halfhearted protest, and she swallows it down, abrupt and intense.

 

What was simple comfort grows hot within him, some warm in his belly. He has been aware of her for some time—the soft flesh of her inner thighs, the sweet curve of her shapely body. She presses forward, and his hand moves of his own accord to cup one of her breasts. His thumb circles her nipple, still pebbled tenderly in the chill, and she sighs into his mouth. He squeezes, and she lets out a quiet whimper, her hips shifting restlessly. He answers her with a moan, so deeply in need of her.

 

He shifts up onto his knees, and Jester lets out a cry of protest at the loss of contact, but obligingly stills herself when he rests a splayed hand on her soft belly. He missed this, he realizes, the sweet, subtle roundness of her, hiding great strength underneath. She stares up at him, wraps one hand around his wrist as he moves it up between her breasts. He brushes her lips, and then she parts them and takes them into her mouth, tongue lapping between his digits easy and sensuous as anything. He can feel his cock heavy between his legs, twitching.

 

Jester isn’t often coy. She gives just as good as she takes, desirous and giggly and free. There’s something expectant about her now, in the way that she waits and watches.

 

“I want to watch you,” Caleb says, using his other hand to brush her fringe off of her forehead. He takes his fingers out of her mouth, puts it on her lower stomach, suggestive. “Is that okay?”

 

“Yes, yes,” She says, her voice hoarse.

 

Giving a jerky nod, he curls his fingers around the hem of her gown and pulls it up, just enough to expose the area where she’s hot and wanting. He can feel the wet of her when he slides his hand down, into the folds of her cunt. He circles her clit, gently, teasing, and she reaches up and pulls him close by his shoulders. He swallows her moan as he slides a finger inside her. She takes him easily, and when his thumb affixes itself to her clit he can feel her walls flutter tellingly.

 

“You are so close already,” he says, kissing her cheeks and her warm forehead, “Is that for me?”

 

Jester’s too far gone to answer him with words, but she nods, her brows furrowing. He gives her another kiss before he leans away, taking in the tender distress of her face and the bounce of her as she moves against his hand. He gives her another finger, slow, relishing the stretch, and curls his fingers on the next slow thrust. She cups her breasts, twisting her nipples rough, reminding him just a bit of the rowdy girl who takes her pleasure where she can find it.

 

Caleb is committing this to memory:

The way she bites her lip, her desperate sounds, the way her walls flutter when he thrusts his fingers especially hard. The sound of her voice as she cries out for him. The way one hand reaches up and curls tightly into his hair, and the other wraps around his wrist, not hindering but reaching for a connection. He gives her this, fast and single-minded, pressing kisses to her forehead as he moves his hand. There’s an ache in his wrist and his jaw pulses from where he’s clenched his teeth, but he does not stop.

And then he feels the familiar fluttering of her cunt, hears the hitch of her breath, and checks her impatience by slowing his movements to a near crawl, drawing out to the tips of his fingers and then sliding languidly back inside. Jester lets out a sob, plaintively calling his name, and then meets his pace, allowing him to give her this the way he wants.

”Help me, _liebling_ , help me,” he tells her, kissing hotly along her jaw.

Caleb is thankful that she understands, and watches raptly as the hand that was gripping his wrist releases him so that her fingers can reach down, cover her clit, and roll over it quick and dirty.

He rewards her for it with a crook of his fingers, looking for the rough place that makes her cry. He doesn’t quite find it, shaky and imprecise with desire as he is, but the action is just what she needs. She arches her back and comes in waves, breathing out through her nose as she clenches around him in pulses, her clit hot beneath his thumb when he slides it up between her fingers.

 

“Oh please oh please oh please oh please,” she’s chanting, high and keening as he works her through it, pulling another smaller release on the tail end of the last. 

He pulls his fingers out of her entrance, and moves them thoughtlessly through her folds, feeling where she is swollen and twitching for him. He taps her clit and it’s like he’s sparked magic within her, the way her hips rolls and she turns to hide her face, nipping restlessly at his wrist where it’s planted by her head.

 

After a little while, Jester whines and pushes his hand away, gasping that it’s too much. Caleb unthinkingly pops his fingers in his mouth, and she curses and presses her thighs together as he sucks her slick off of his flesh.

 

He leans down for another kiss, and she licks into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. For a a few blessed moments, he rubs comforting circles into her belly and they share a lazy kiss.

 

“Next time I want you to lick me,” She says when they separate, and the thought must have him visibly reeling because she giggles hazily at whatever expression he makes.

 

He has almost completely forgotten his erection, desperately hard in his trousers. She cups him, inquisitive, and when he doesn’t protest she unbuckles him with efficiency and takes him in hand, her thumb sliding over his slit, where it’s oozing precum. She giggles at the buck of his hips.

 

“I want you inside me,” She tells him, tugging just the way he likes it, just enough to make him pant.

 

“Aren’t you—sensitive?” He asks.

 

“That makes it better.” She tells him.

 

In the end she rolls him onto his back and seats herself on his cock, cooing at the stretch. He plants his feet and lets her set the pace, taking in the glow reflected on her horns, the rolling shift of her body. He missed this, too, he realized, her heat and presence and the purring Infernal that falls from her lips in the throes. She guides his hands to her hips, and he holds her tight enough that he knows their will be marks on her skin in the morning. 

 

Before long, she's sighing through a weaker release, and it’s just enough to take him to the edge. Jester leans down and soothes him as he curses and bucks his hips, his balls drawing up before he’s cumming like a shot into her hot cunt.

 

She strokes his hair as they come down, and he’s got his face pressed into her collarbones so he leaves kisses there, declaring his love in Zemnian so that she won’t be burdened with it.

 

In the morning, Jester kisses him and squeezes his hands.

 

“Talk to Molly,” she says.

 

Caleb presses his forehead against hers and says, “Ja, okay.”

 

It takes him a week to work up the courage to talk to Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey there! welcome back!
> 
> i went back and wrote more for this ages ago. the final part is complete, im just deciding whether or not i want to break it into parts and what i want to leav out. so there will be more! it should also be noted that 1 i wrote this before the Big Reveal in recent chapters and 2. this doesnt rly take place in canon verse, it’s more some nebulous au where all of the nein is just a traveling band of friends with the same backgrounds and communication issues
> 
> thanks to everyone who left comments on the first chapter, even with all its incompletedness. it was a little thing that i was half afraid of sharing, so im rly happy with the response it got.
> 
> this is kinda rough and while i looked over it, i always get sick of my own writing. if there are any glaring issues, don’t be afraid to point them out.
> 
> thanks for reading! please share your thoughts!💙💜🧡💙💜🧡💙💜🧡💙💜🧡💙💜🧡💙💜🧡


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, _liebling_ ,” Caleb sighs. “It was never the two of you that I was afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! sorry for how long it took to update this. a lot of things have been happening in my life. my best friend of ten years died by suicide. i have been trying my best to juggle my grief with school (which is getting really tough right now) and work. i have always wanted writing to be something i do strictly to destress, and editing this already became a larger endeavor than i originally intended, so i just didn't write until i felt like it.
> 
> i hope that you enjoy this. please be patient with me as i get the rest of this little tale cleaned up into something that i feel good enough to share

It is nonsensical, but the first thing that drew Caleb to Molly were his hands.    
  
He has long, elegant fingers, typically decorated with rings or smudged ink. His palms are calloused in places, soft in others, and always warm. Those hands were gentle with children, loving with friends, and firm in battle. One of them was decorated with an eerily beautiful eye, the part of a network of tattoos that Caleb is now intimately familiar with. 

Those same hands draw Caleb’s eye in the golden light of the campfire. Molly and Yasha have their heads bent together. In the quiet hours, they often come together and discuss their day or their findings or their past in the circus. Molly speaks with his whole body, gesturing with his hands and rocking back and forth and swishing his tail. He’s subdued in this moment--it has been a long day, and his arm is wrapped around Jester’s waist, allowing her to press her face sleepily into his chest as she sketches in her notebook. His thumb absently rubs circles into her hip, in that same spot Caleb knows will pull a giggle from deep in her chest if one presses hard enough. Molly’s other hand is turning in circles, his wrist flicking and jangling with the carved jewelry that dangles from it. Caleb is no artist, but it is a moment he wishes he could capture, somehow. His memory is not always enough.

“Aw, they look nice,” comes Caduceus’ endearingly rumbly voice from beside him. 

Caleb only just manages not to jolt in place, but he does turn and fix the firbolg with a wide-eyed expression. Caduceus is large, and outside of battle, moves with a methodical sort of air, as if unhurried by the world around him. It’s not hard to hear him coming, not any harder than it is to see him, with his head so far above even Yasha’s. How had he done that?

“You’re in love,” Caduceus announces, unknowingly answering his question. 

From beside him, Nott looks up from her little alchemical kit, hastily assembled at her feet. Her brows furrow. 

“What?” She asks, absently pushing a fall of inky black hair out of her faintly glowing eyes. (It’s a sleepy thing, that movement, something she only does when she’s had one too many drinks and her concentration is waning, but she wants to keep going.)

“Oh, your friend here is terrible at communication,” Caduceus says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He’s got that half-smile on his face, the one that makes his whole face light up.

Caleb sighs, wishing he could retreat into his scarf and never again return from its threadbare depths.

“Oh, par for the course, really,” Nott says, turning her tired gaze back to her hands’ deft work. “Caleb always has a lot on his mind. That’s what happens when you’re so smart. Head stuck in the clouds.” 

“I am right here,” Caleb announces, without heat. 

“Hello,” Nott says, not getting it. 

Affectionately, Caleb smoothes her fringe out of her face. She gives him a toothy grin that somehow manages to look both affectionate and tired.

Caduceus puts a heavy hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Don’t you want to join them?”

“Not particularly.”

“You’re not the best liar.”

“And you aren’t the best at, eh, reading the room, my tall friend.” Caleb sighs.

But he stands up anyways. Every step towards the fire feels like a death sentence. Once he’s close enough, Jester looks up at him and gives him a soft smile. Yasha nods at him, and Molly drags his gaze over to Caleb like it pains him. Caleb gives him a smile that likely looks like a grimace. After a moment, Molly lets out a wry laugh and dimples affectionately at him in return, so his interruption is not as unwelcome as he thought it may be. 

“Can I sit?” Caleb asks. 

Molly grandly sweeps his free arm out, raising a brow. Caleb takes the invitation for what it is and sits, inordinately pleased at the way Molly curls his arm around Caleb’s tense shoulders. Tension drains out of Molly, too, a tension that he hid well, and Caleb once again regrets the unnecessary trouble he seems to cause wherever he goes.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Molly teases.

“Oh, ja. I am... new in town.” Caleb whispers.

Jester lets out a giggle, and unearths an arm from where it was hidden in Molly’s jacket and sticks it in Caleb’s face. “Nice to meet you, sir. You have nice hair.” 

He shakes her hand. “You have nicer horns.” 

That makes her preen. In the glow of the fire, he can see where she has absently smudged charcoal on her face. It’s a strange, tender emotion that makes him lick his thumb and reach out to clean it off. As he retracts his hand, Jester kisses the butt of his palm.

Molly’s fingers delve into his hair, nails scratching delicately at his scalp, and Caleb allows himself to enjoy this moment of rest. The rumble in Molly’s chest as he restarts his conversation with Yasha is comforting, and before long, he loses himself to sleep.

—

The morning feels almost unreal when it comes. Caleb awakens entrapped in that same tangle of limbs he loves seeing from afar, his scarred skin strikingly pale against lavender and blue. The sight does not alarm him as much as it did, in those earlier days, but it still fascinates him. 

The sky is light, but the sun is hidden by strangely swollen clouds. Jester is asleep with her face pressed messily into the bedroll, but Molly is awake, sitting up with his legs crossed. His red eyes are narrowed into slits.

Caleb knows this face, has seen it in battle or in passing through towns that were especially prejudiced. Molly is mercurial, and far more sensitive than he lets on, but there’s something about the way his anger presents itself that steals Caleb’s breath. It’s silent and cutting.

“Good morning, Mr. Caleb,” he says, soft.

“Good morning,” Caleb says, feeling like a scolded child.

Molly’s jaw is set, his lips drawn flat in a way that makes his dimples apparent, a weird facsimile of his usual half-smile.

“I don’t get you. I feel like we’ve tried giving you space, and then you back off. We try being a little more obvious, and you enjoy it for, like, a day, and then you back off.”

He pauses like he’s waiting for Caleb to say something. The silence is filled by Caduceus’ rumbling snores. Then, Molly sighs, visibly deflating.

“It’s just, this is nice. I like this. But I don’t know if this means that tomorrow you won’t be speaking to us again. And that feels like shit, frankly. I can take it—just be honest with me, I guess—but there’s no need to string Jester along like that.”

And here is another thing Caleb has observed. He knows when Molly is lying, or withholding something. It’s that nervous tick, where he starts fiddling with his hair. He braids his hair every night without fail, to stretch it’s coily length and prevent tangles. As he speaks, he closes his eyes and busily begins undoing his braids from the bottom up. There’s a spectacular tenderness to this, Molly at his most vulnerable, frustrated and with no jangling wristbands and glittering rings, his hair pulled back from undecorated horns.

Caleb does not know what to say, so he leans in and kisses Molly while he formulates words.

“I am not good at this,” he begins.

Molly snorts into his lips, and when Caleb kisses him again he can feel a smile.

“I care about you. The both of you. It is just hard to remember that I am free to do this, now. And to be sure of where I stand.” Caleb explains, reaching up to run his thumb along the plush of Molly’s bottom lip.

“Just ask us,” Molly whines, his brows furrowing. 

Caleb stands, and his frown deepens all the while, but he reciprocates the next kiss that comes almost on autopilot.

“I will try. Please give me time. That is all I can promise for now.”

 

* * *

 

Trying amounts to this: 

Jester is a romantic at heart, and relishes tiny things: being able to put her hand in the crook of his arm as they walk, flowers tucked behind her ear, kisses in corridors. (He pecks her cheek once, an absent thing, and she lets out a delighted squeal that’s loud enough to make him wince. Then she apologizes, sweet and for once genuine, and he soothes the furrow of her brows with another kiss.) If he has the spare coin, he buys her any little trinket that reminds him of her eyes, or something that would look fetching dangling from her horns. But mostly, it’s the talking to her that he thinks she appreciates the most. Jester is always asking everyone what’s on their mind in one way or another, halfway between curious and affectionate tabs-keeping to stay current on moods, and Caleb only just now realizes how little he answered her honestly until he started trying. It’s scary because sometimes it leads to “I enjoy your smile” and “I am glad you are here” and even once he catches “I love you” in his throat, quashes it and turns it “sleep well” instead.

Molly he indulges by melting into hugs and kisses and sharp nails scratching gently across his scalp. He’s a creature of action, he’s passion and love and flip-floppy interests, but when his interests narrow down to Caleb it feels like being under a magnifying glass, tender exposure. Molly spends moments of silence just observing him, hands rubbing up and down his arms or in circles on his back. It’s a pleasant sort of discomfort that Caleb feels then, and the worst of it is soothed when he hides his face in the crook of Molly’s neck and gets one of those honest, breathy laughs for his trouble. He brings offerings of books and interesting finds during adventure, and in the down moments presses himself along Caleb’s side and regales him with tales of travel. Molly’s stories always have some sort of purpose or moral, and they are often hidden behind the more obvious ones. Caleb listens to each and feels as though he understands the world a bit better. Because how could he understand the world? He, who spent his formative years working for the praise of others and then the rest hidden in Empire imprisonment? It does not matter how long Molly has been aware of himself. He was thrown into the world headfirst, a world that would view him suspicion at that, and somehow came out kind on the other end.

Sometimes he wonders if Molly catches “I love you” and spins it into folk tales instead.  
  


* * *

 

No matter where their travels take them (and they take them far, for they are a large bunch with branching whims), the Mighty Nein is well known. Sometimes wild conjecture and fairytale fame follows them, can help or hinder their progress, but usually it lands them jobs with those of means. 

The family they've helped is rich as well as grateful, so the space they get to themselves in reward is lavish. They have little need for coin these days, so they find work that is charitable or that interests them, and accept whatever can be given to them in return. (Shooing audacious kobolds off a winery had been a deeply distressing but educational experience,)

There's a part of Caleb—the old Caleb, who was clever and youthful and Empire entitled—that preens at this, this offering for a job well done. He runs his fingers over velvet wall hangings and admires the food in the pantry and thinks, "About right."

But mostly, he cannot do much but stare gobsmacked at the excess of it. It's a villa by the sea, boxy and bright in its simple elegance. The ceilings are high enough that even tree-like Caduceus does not need to bend his shoulders to move freely, and Caleb views with affection the pleased grin that works its way onto his face as they explore its layout. Nott is skittering about, curious fingers dipping into every crevice and nook that catches her eye. She darts behind curtains and ducks her head out of windows, ears twitching in curiosity. Fjord is watching her with no small amount of amusement, and he follows her aimless journey with his arms crossed. 

Yasha is the only one of them who has seemingly no interest in exploring, and after placing her sword by the wall she makes for a brightly colored fainting couch and sprawls out on it. She is just tall enough that her feet dangle off the ledge. Molly reaches out to pull at her toes, and he jerks away with a high laugh as she kicks at him, slowly enough for him to escape its reach.

Beau and Jester were the first to enter, chucking their shoes and then taking off at top speed, laughing and whispering together. Occasionally, Caleb is aware of them because he can hear their heavy footfalls moving up and down corridors at top speed. Once, the two of them pass him in the halls and Jester briefly stops to cup his cheeks and press a kiss onto his lips with a burbling laugh. She says something to him in Infernal, low and excited, and he’s learned just enough to catch the word “precious”. Then the two of them are off, turning the corner with adventure in their eyes.    


Caleb has been wondering on his own for a while. He isn’t expecting an arm to wrap snugly around his shoulders, and even though he quickly recognizes Molly’s unique warmth, it takes a while for the tension to drain from his body.

“Yeesh. I know we all could have used a rest, but they’re like children.” Molly says, kindly ignoring Caleb’s rigid stance. He does squeeze Caleb’s shoulder, though, when the reaction subsides.

“It’s not so bad, I think,” Caleb says. “I am glad to see everyone so happy.”

He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He settles for clutching his own shirt with one, and bravely wrapping his arm around Molly’s waist beneath his cloak. Molly dimples down at him. 

“Are you happy, Mr. Caleb?”

“I think so, Mr. Mollymauk.” 

“That’s good. I think I’m happy, too.”

There’s some kind of tension suspended in the air, broken by Beau and Jester yet again taking their vacation home by storm, racing this time. Jester brightens when she sees them, says, “Hi, lovers!” as she draws close, and “Bye, lovers!” as she goes, her tail swishing as Beau speeds in front of her.

Molly cranes his neck to watch them leave, grinning. There’s something about Molly and Jester both, when they smile. Both of them have sets of teeth that are just a shade too sharp to be contained, so the gleam of incisors is hard to miss. But Molly’s—Molly’s are mismatched, with one longer than the other, so it always invites an endearing crookedness to his displays of joy.

Caleb reaches out, tucks a riot of Molly’s dark purple curls behind his ear.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Molly asks, amused.

“Just that you have a romantic face,” Caleb says, and though he hates that he let the words happen the moment they leave his mouth, it earns him a laugh. 

And then Molly is leaning in to kiss along the ridge of his cheekbones before finally landing on his lips.

—

Dinner is a chaotic affair, as often is the case for the Mighty Nein. Caduceus and Yasha are cooking, comfortable and stalwart in their embroidered kitchen aprons. When food is served, they all forgo the long dining table and push three smaller ones from the living room together. They sit on the floor, feet entangled and plates overlapping. The windows are open, and as the day draws to a close, the brisk winds of the sea bring in the scent of salt and seafoam through the curtains.

Molly and Jester monopolize his personal space with all their usual aplomb, curling tails around his thighs and arms as they settle close. It’s an unthinking thing for them, and they had done it before the lines of their relationship ever blurred, but there’s a special headiness to it now--the way Jester will steal glances at him, and Molly’s wandering hands.

They pass the night with drinking games, the wine rolling bubbly and pleasantly tart in Caleb’s mouth between every sip. His loosened tongue tells tales he would never think of sharing while sober. There’s something heady in the sweet way Molly rests his head on Caleb’s shoulder as he listens, tilted so his horns don’t prick his skin. 

“I wanna fuck,” Molly says, apropos of nothing.

“You’re drunk. What you want to do is sleep after you get some cuddles,” Jester tells him, moving some curls away from his forehead.

“You’re so sexy and powerful, Jester,” Molly says,  “I love you.” 

“Aw, I love you too.” Jester says, leaning over and kissing his shoulder through the fabric of his gauzy shirt.

“You guys should fuck me, I think,” Molly tells her, reaching his hand out.

She giggles and takes it, brings it up to her lips to press a kiss on his fingers, but otherwise seems content to ignore him in favor of enticing the rest into a card game that everyone knows she will cheat at.

“She is right, you know,” Caleb sighs. “We should sleep.”

Molly snickers. “Mr. Caleb, are you trying to get me naked?” 

“I am trying to get you into bed...  _ Wait _ . That is not what I meant.” 

Molly is truly laughing now, low and wheezing. “Perfect.”

The promise of the night lingers over the air, in their shared energy, and in the end the three of them tumble into a large bed together.

Molly announces that he’ll get them in the morning, says it like some oath he’d almost swear under the Moonweaver’s name.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Caleb says. 

Jester settles for taking a pillow and playfully hitting Molly with it, but she doesn’t resist when he grabs her wrist and pulls her down for a slow kiss.

In the end, he is the first of them to fall asleep, bundled up among silk sheets and plush pillows in the very picture of indolence and excess.

Jester lets him sprawl, crawls over to Caleb in just her familiar see-through nightgown, and wiggles her way into his hold with a satisfied sound.

“I’m glad you’re not afraid of us anymore.” She murmurs into his collarbone.

“Oh,  _ liebling _ ,” Caleb sighs. Maybe it is the wine, but he feels an almost instinctual sadness on her behalf, for making her feel this way. “It was never the two of you that I was afraid of.”

—

Morning finds an empty bed and a few of them assembled back in the living room, nursing Caduceus’ foul-smelling and indescribably-textured hangover cure. It warms Caleb nonetheless, and he is sure breakfast will past better for it.

“Jester and I prepared some baths for everyone,” Caduceus announces, softly. “I think she and Molly have already claimed one.”

“Fuck, that sounds great right about now,” Beau says, rubbing at her tired eyes with the heel of her palms. 

The action smudges the vestiges of already old makeup, and when she moves her hand creates a rather ghastly look on her face, but Caleb cherishes the half-smile she shoots at him nonetheless. 

Nott, who is more or less always hungover and therefore just fine, piles rolls, corn, cheese, and grapes on Caleb’s plate. “You should eat. You’re so thin, the baths will wash you away if you don’t.”

“That is not how it works, my friend.” Caleb tells her, but he begins to eat anyway.

“I’m sure it would work somehow.” Nott retorts, with her usual imperious and motherly flair. 

He hides his smile behind a bite into pleasantly warm bread. Fjord stumbles his way in, and breakfast passes over slow conversation. 

They disperse slow like low tide, clapping shoulders and smiling. And this is all Caleb has ever wanted, he thinks. A home, with people who care for him, with each day passing teaching him something new to the world. He takes a bath for himself, dips his head under the water and contemplates how he will work to deserve it all.

— 

“I told Caduceus to make sure you joined us. What a bad job he did,” Jester pouts, as Caleb joins her and Molly on the bed. 

“Oh. He is not so good at these kinds of things, I think.” Caleb tells her, amused.

Jester is naked save for the cotton socks on her feet and the glittering topaz necklace that rests fetchingly between her breasts. Molly wears a thin tunic, and when he shifts to bracket Caleb on his other side, he catches a tantalizing glimpse of his inner thighs. Their skin is water soft, and as they draw closer, he can smell lavender and poppy on their skin. 

Molly kisses his shoulder from behind, his palm warm where it rests low on his hip. 

He leaves a trail of butterfly kisses up his neck, until he kisses the sensitive area just behind Caleb’s ear. 

“We’re good at other things,” Molly says.

And even though the kisses have filled him with that same punch-drink smitten feeling he always has around the two of them, Caleb cannot contain the incredulous laugh that bubbles in his chest at Molly’s words.

“Ugh. Shut up, that was a horrible line, Molly! Now he’s going to leave us.” Jester complains. 

“It  _ was _ pretty basic. I have, eh, read better in the romance novels.”

Molly fakes an affronted noise. “I try to make good on a promise to you brats, and this is how you repay me?”

“You’re awful,” Jester says, reaching around Caleb to push at Molly’s shoulder. 

She’s laughing, though, and so is Molly. It’s not long before the three of them are intertwined, a heap of laughter and sweet tension.

“Hey, seriously. Stick with us, okay?” Jester says, clutching him tightly.

“Always,” he tells her.

Detangling and falling back together feels natural.

Caleb shucks his lounge clothes with military efficiency, blushing deeply when Molly wolf whistles at him. Jester giggles as Caleb pulls the socks from her feet, giggling as his fingertips dig into ticklish arches. Molly playfully throws his shirt over Caleb’s head, and through the fabric he can just make out the two of them piling pillows by the headboard until they’ve made a veritable platform above the mattress. Molly reaches into a nearby drawer, and makes a pleased noise of discovery. Caleb watches them a moment, contented in taking in Molly’s scent and enjoying their soft laughter. 

Jester takes the shirt off, and pulls him into a kiss, slow and sensuous. She tastes of fruit when he dips his tongue between her lips. He nips at her lips and earns a breathy whine of his name. Molly kneels behind her, his tail swishing languidly back and forth. He has one of her breasts in his grip, with the other hand drumming tattoo on her inner thigh.

“Hold, a moment,” Caleb tells them, disengaging. 

He’s met with soft protests and curious eyes, but before long he’s got Molly on his back with Jester straddling his waist. Molly’s thighs spread for Caleb’s hands easily enough, and he’s pleased to see that his cock is half-hard with interest. Jester, impish thing that he is, lowers herself even further, pressing her folds along his length.

“Like this.” Caleb says.

“Oh, that sounds nice. I like that.” Jester says.

Molly pats her thighs and says, “Come here, darling,” and she’s shimmying up his chest, lifting up just enough to press her cunt onto his waiting mouth. She’s got her knees as far apart as possible to accommodate his horns, and it leaves her open to more exploration. Caleb relishes the low, indulgent sound that bursts forth from her lips, and admires the softness of her buttocks on easy display. 

He lowers himself, presses wet kisses on Molly’s sternum and follows a line down. If this were any other day, he would try to savor this—run his fingertips along the scars he sees, kiss at the sensitive place where hip meets thigh, take Molly’s balls into his mouth—but he feels impatient with his need, so he rides a wave of boldness and swallows as much of Molly’s cock as he can handle. Molly’s hips jerk, a deep groan humming in his chest. Jester moans in turn, her back bowing. He does not need to see to know she’s got her fingers pulling roughly on Molly’s hair, just the way he likes. Her restless tail finds his hand and winds around it, through his fingers and around his wrist, like it has a life of its own.

He swirls his tongue over the head of Molly’s erection, enjoying its unique shape as he lowers his head. Molly is heavy on his tongue, smelling thickly of arousal. He hollows his cheeks, again enjoying the chain reaction that follows. There’s a headiness to the power he holds, and beneath that there’s a strong need to know that he is pleasing them. 

His own arousal pains him, throbs with desire each time he shifts and pushes his cock into the frictionless silk below. It’s deliciously frustrating.

Jester’s moans are pitching higher, the way they do when she’s close. Just as the thought processes, her tail’s grip on his hand tightens and she comes with a wail, squirming in Molly’s hold. He works her through the aftershocks, before she’s hissing and pulling off of his face, rolling onto her back to catch her breath. Molly licks his lips with a grin. There’s still slick on his nose and chin.

“That wasn’t fair,” Jester huffs.

Molly opens his mouth to reply, but Caleb has drawn down as close to the root as he can and now takes the chance to suck as harshly as he can, his tongue worrying along the underside. All that leaves his mouth is a low keen, and he falls back onto the pillows, caught off-balance. Jester lets out a punch-drunk giggle.

“Caleb, enough. I’m going to come, and I don’t want to do that until you’ve fucked me.” Molly says. His hands are hovering near Caleb’s head like he doesn’t know quite what to do with them. 

Caleb feels another pulse of want at those words, and though he’s reluctant to pull away, he does. He brackets Molly’s sides and leans down for a kiss, tasting Jester on his tongue.

“Ja, that sounds good to me.”

Molly passes him the slick he found, and soon Caleb is warming it on his fingers before working one inside, enjoying the way Molly covers his face with his hands and arches his hips. It’s a familiar process, this. The curl of his finger, searching and just harsh enough that Molly squirms in his hold, fussily asking for more. He trails another finger around his rim, teasing, and Molly’s so relaxed and open that he meets minimal resistance sliding it in. He stretches his fingers, just teasingly brushing past the places Molly wants him most, getting him ready.

Jester shuffles forward, and then her hand is dipping between Caleb’s legs, cupping him in his palm. It’s enough to stop him, momentarily—he hadn’t realized he was quite that aroused—but then Molly is cursing him within an inch of his life and he’s reminded to keep going. Jester giggles into the air, coming close enough to nip along the crook of his neck as she pumps his cock, slow and teasing, writer’s callouses catching on his sensitive underside.

“I’m going to kick you in the face,” Molly warns no one in particular. 

Caleb lets out a breathy laugh, and it’s just enough to ease the impatience on Molly’s face into fond irritation. 

“You’re being a baby!” Jester scoffs. 

But then she’s giving Caleb a look of dark intent and pulling away, throwing her legs over Molly’s waist and positioning herself just high enough to take him inside, giving a satisfied little sigh. Molly bucks up into her, and she flattens her hands on his chest, getting comfortable. Caleb pulls his fingers out, slow, and then he rests a hand on Jester’s hip for balance as he pushes into Molly’s entrance, gritting his teeth at the tight warmth enveloping him.

“Yes,” he says, too far gone to feel embarrassed with himself, “Just like this.”

It doesn’t quite work, at first. Caleb’s self-control is frayed, Molly is needy, and Jester is sensitive from her last climax. Half of the time, they stop moving to apologize to each other and then inevitably start laughing. But soon they find a pace, slow and hard, with Caleb’s hand sneaking to play at Jester’s clit each time he draws close, feeding slow and hard thrusts that flow through them like a wave. Molly rolls his hips up on each inward thrust, clenches on each pull out, and tugs Jester down onto him with insistent hands. He keeps up a steady stream of praise and challenges, half Common and half Infernal— _ did she like that, dirty girl, how did Caleb’s fingers feel, lovely girl, fuck me harder, right there _ —and is the first of them to come, tensing and throwing his head back.

“Sorry, lovelies,” Molly says. 

“Don’t be sorry. This is what I wanted.” Caleb says. 

When he pulls out, Molly hisses lowly and settles down onto the pillows below.

When Jester dismounts he slides two fingers inside her easy, relishing the slickness of their combined arousal. She rests her head back on his shoulder. His thumb rubbing insistent circles on her clit is enough to bring her to the edge, and she contracts around his fingers, her deep moan reverberating across his skin. 

Caleb uses the hand that’s wet with the both of them to take his cock in hand, pumping once, twice, three times before the heat in his bellow spreads outwards and his coming over his fingers in low pulses. It’s tacky, it’s messy, but the both of him are eyeing him like he’s food and he’s too tired to feel anything but catlike satisfaction over the whole thing.

— 

Another bath is in order. They wipe themselves down and then wrap themselves up in one large sheet, toddling like birds towards the nearest bath hall. They’re duck-footed and clumsy and giggly, but they manage to make it without being seen. A little bit of magic has the water heated. The water level rises with the three of them inside, sploshes over if someone moves too quickly, so they settle next to each other, pleasantly warm and achy.

“I want every day to be like this,” Jester hums. 

Molly wraps his arms around their shoulders and brings them close. “We can try to make something like it.”

Caleb is surprised to find that he believes it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. i'll clean this up later if it's error ridden
> 
> edit: i made a tumblr, u should talk to me at [sweetfoolmarnie](https://sweetfoolmarnie.tumblr.com/)


	4. interlude

The exact method of this spell has always left him.

It is something he learned just because he could, back in those days that feel a thousand miles away now--when he was young and witty and could charm his way out of punishments with a half smile and an accented word. This spell had driven him mad, because it was always something that he couldn’t quite get. Where was the intent behind these words meant to come from?

A spell had three main aspects: intent, words, and materials. It was easy enough to find words and materials if you had the coin for paper and whatever little trinkets you may need for success. Have subpar materials, and you’d have a facsimile that trained eyes could suss out in little time, but it was a technical success. 

Intent was a tricky thing. Allow your mind to wander for too long and you might end up with the opposite effect of what you were hoping for. Attempt to force it and you risked self-harm. Have none at all and you would waste your time and money.

This spell was the simplest thing, some little light show of dancing figures and sparkles. Technically the only “material” it needed was air. A tutor had titteringly told him that the intent behind the spell was romantic love, or something like it. That he could not do it had rankled him, then. Did he not have that in spades? How could one put to words the feelings he had for Astrid? He had considered himself in love, then. Lived for the times they spent dancing away at functions, and the secretive little talks in curtain alcoves where anyone could hear them, just for the thrill of it. Astrid was fire and wit and beauty, she was a gravity well and she was an important part of who Caleb is.

But this morning, as he absentmindedly mutters the incantation and then shoots out of bed in shock when a little light show begins above where he has made a cozy nest of blankets and pillows with Molly and Jester, something slides into place in his mind. He has been muttering this incantation for years as a way to ground himself and pass the time. He did not expect to ever be given another chance to complete it.

He doesn’t realize how hard he is breathing until Molly squirms and Jester sleepily reaches up to rest her palm on his chest.

“Are you okay, Caleb? Oh, that is so pretty. Did you do it by accident…?” She murmurs, voice still slurred from sleep.

 It wouldn’t be the first time he has had an accidental bought of magic in his sleep. His worst demons dog him most intensely when he is powerless to stop them.

“ _Ja. Ja, liebling_ ,” he tells her, swallowing.

“You should do that spell for us again in the morning. Well, the morning, proper.” Molly says.

 His warm hand is on Caleb’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“You alright?” He continues. “Have a bad dream?”

“No,” Caleb says, honestly. “I didn’t dream at all.”


End file.
